


And the timing's never right

by cc5



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cc5/pseuds/cc5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S6 premiere | Daryl Dixon finds himself alone and in trouble. The new people he meets might be fools but he would be fool to not listen to what they have to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick drabble that I didn't entirely hate and thought someone else might enjoy.  
> Critique and comments are <3
> 
> Not beta'd and English isn't my first language. 
> 
> Also, Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians!
> 
> Oh! Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

He’s been separated from the others. The herd is long gone, a few stragglers here and there but he can deal. It’s not the first time he’s been alone and it won’t be last, he supposes. Granted, losing the bike pissed him off greatly but assuming that their plan had worked and Alexandria was safe- he’d find his way back.

But then. A flash of blonde hair and he thinks walker and misses, _misses_ , the movement to his left. Must be more dehydrated and exhausted then he thought. The familiar click of a safety and he knows he’s fucked. 

“Lower the bow, slowly.” Quiet. Pressed.

He does. Glances to the brunette and notices the shaky grip on her 9mm. She white knuckles it and might shoot him by accident if he’s real unlucky today.

“Don’t mean no trouble. Just passing through.”

“They all say that.” Firmer this time, accusing. The blonde joins, knife in hand. Short hair, fidgeting, just as young as the brunette. To his right, he notes more footsteps.

“’s just me. Got no agenda. Lemme grab the bow and I’ll leave-”

“Like hell you are. I’m gonna tie you up and we wait and see if your group shows up to rescue you.” The guy appears twitchy, nervous. They seem scared of him, which is amusing given that they are in control of the situation, but it’s also dangerous. Fear makes people stupid and he won’t die because three idiots don’t know how to deal with one other person who’s not even a threat. 

 

* * *

Later, bound and sitting against a tree, twitchy guy seems to have regained some misplaced confidence and arrogance- still thinking Daryl is a scout, still asking the wrong questions. It’s useless. The guy is paranoid (for good reason, who knows) and the girls just look anxious and impatient. Their camp is, well. A tarp and a fire pit. They have nothing worth scavenging as far as Daryl can see. Doesn’t keep them from being protective of what little they might have.

But Daryl does not appreciate the gun in his face and twitchy guy does not appreciate Daryl’s attitude. Every passing minute they are sitting here is a waste of daylight. Chance to move on, to hunt, to do anything but this. Eventually, the brunette huffs and offers Daryl some water. Twitchy guy concedes and announces he has to “go take a piss”. 

“You don’t seem like the others we’ve met recently. Seems like you might speak the truth after all.” Her smile is small but genuine. “Everyone who stays so zen after an hour with Ron can’t be that bad of a person.”

Daryl grunts lowly, shrugs a shoulder. “Wouldn’t kill ya to have a little faith.”

At this, Brunette tries to hide a small laugh, turns to look at the blonde who has her arms crossed but looks amused. “Right, in this world that’s easier said then done, stranger.”

“Name’s Daryl.”

“Daryl, then. I’m Ann, this is Jenna.” 

He gives them a nod in greeting. They are at a standstill, but it seems less dismal. 

“I’ve a got a community, good twenty miles from here. Walls, food. Safety. Whole families.”  
He’s not sure why he tells them. Doesn’t know them from Adam and this Ron guy is a dick. But the women seem OK and he’d rather know them in Alexandria than out here with a guy who seems unstable. 

Jenna shakes her head no, not even reluctantly, and Ann looks down at her hands. “Got no good experiences with communities. Groups of people doesn’t mean it’s a good place.” She fidgets with the water bottle, her sigh sad and weary. 

“There _are_ still good people out there,” he insists. He can’t help himself. Yes, there is shit everywhere, death and violence and people are sick bastards. But there’s also still beauty. There is kindness.  
She made him see that. Even after the prison she still believed. At that hospital, she was the good that saved Noah. For her he must remain caring. 

Ann and Jenna exchange a look, amused again. Shy smiles. Jenna steps closer, puts her hand in Ann’s.

“You kinda sound like her.”

He tilts his head, looking at Ann. 

“I don’t mean Ann. We… we met a girl, few weeks back. She was special. Inspiring. Said those things you just did. Could tell she meant it, too.”

“Where’s she now?” Daryl feels a warmness in his belly, akin to hope. Stupid, stupid heart. 

“Left to head North. Wanted to go where it’s colder, find a cabin. We didn’t think we could made it in a cold winter.” She shrugs. 

“Girl got a name?”

“Said her name didn’t matter. Said what mattered was having hope.” The women smile at each other knowingly, relishing the memory. There is more, Daryl knows, a whole story there, and wants to hear it all, soak it up. Wants to hope for a second, no matter how foolish this particular hope might be.

Jenna continues after a beat. “We think she didn’t know her name. She lost a few things along the way and, I mean, she never really spoke. I think her head was not right, not entirely.” 

“Jen!” The brunette admonishes, “don’t speak like that. She was fine. Just a few pieces missing.”

The one question burns on his tongue and all the way into his lungs until he finds he might choke if he doesn’t ask. “Why’d you say that?”

Jenna shrugs again before answering quietly. “Head shot. I say inspiring, because you know, she had scars on her face and a hole in the head and she still had faith. She was good.”

Daryl’s heart is pounding and his knees would buckle if he didn’t sit already. The breath he releases almost sounds like a sob. This world is cruel, he decides, because either this is a trick, some mean joke by a god he certainly _refuses_ to believe in. Or worse even. The truth. 

If they notice his distress, they ignore it. 

“We called her sunshine. Her hair was so bright, almost golden in the right light.” There is a kindness in her voice, happiness at the memory. “Under all the grime she was ivory pale. And her eyes bright blue, crystalline.”

There are no more words after until Ron stumbles back into camp. Ann has cut Daryl loose, and his ears are still ringing from the information that can’t be. 

Maybe, he thinks, she is now a ghost, a mysterious illusion, giving people hope when they need it and maybe he’s just grasping for straws. Going crazy. Going absolutely mad. Jenna hands him the knife. _Beth’s knife_ , and he doesn’t sheath it right away.  
They must realize something, because there are no more questions and Ron even offers him a bowl of soup, which he foregoes. 

“It was hers,” he whispers. “We thought she was dead.”

Silence. Then, Ann’s voice full of warmth: “Go North. Find a cabin. Find your sunshine again.”


	2. And our heart's gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure I'd continue and it's.. a process. I think I have a general idea of where I am going. If you're going on this journey with me, thank you so much!
> 
> Since the scenes that inspired the original drabble haven't aired yet, I felt I could just add to the my original interpretation. Hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> *again, this is un-beta'd & I don't own the characters :)

He should return to the community first. Make sure everyone’s alright, tell Maggie what he’s heard. Discuss with Rick whether it’s worth pursuing this, whether it’s worth heading north to find a dead girl. Should make this a group decision, really, he’s not the only one missing her. But he’d lose _time_ , she’d gain more distance and what if she runs into trouble while he’s hashing it out with the family in the safety of their walls?

He can’t be sure he’s not going crazy, he almost certainly is. But if he’s chasing her, chasing this ghost, he has to do it now and can’t afford hesitation.

So, there is no sounding board, no one to run this by or to get a second opinion from- the only people he gets to talk about this have rosy cheeks and glistening eyes and tell him to _go, go and find her!_

He spends the night at camp with Ann, Jenna and Ron. The latter turned out to be okay, as far as men in the apocalypse go.

Apparently the mysterious Sunshine saved his life one day: he was out scavenging without his female companions and got into the crosshairs of some bad guys. Ron refused to tell he was with other people, especially women, instead fully willing to give up his pack with a good amount of canned food and his handgun, fully loaded.

The men who had cornered him, bikers, Ron remarks with an almost apologetic glance at Daryl, laughed and made him kneel in the mud of the forest floor, ready to shoot him with his own gun.

Then out of the tree a girl dropped on the gunman, stabbing him in the throat. Gunman whirled around, fired a few shots and got biker #2 in the shoulder before dropping the gun to get the attacker off his back.

Thankfully Ron got his wits back as well as his gun, shot biker #3, who was to stunned to do more than look like a deer caught in headlights, while the girl headed for biker #2, stabbing him in the heart, then head. Biker #4 had decided to run off, but stumbled, hurt his leg, and was killed by the girl as well.

Gunman was already gurgling and choking on his own blood before Ron finished him. And the girl, drenched in arterial blood at this point, simply searched through the men’s pockets, left some stuff for Ron, straightened, and told him, “Good luck.”

“I was dumbfounded, man, I mean here she falls out of that goddamn tree, saves my life and just walks off like it’s nothin’.” Ron shakes his head in amusement, taking a sip of a concoction that is supposed to be herbal tea.

“So of course I yell after her to wait, and ask why she saved my ass and she just shrugs, says she was sleeping in that tree and the noise woke her.

“Anyway, so the noise got Jen ‘n Ann here running up, right? And Sunshine gets all tense ‘n stiff ‘cause it’s three to one. But then Jen just launches herself at her for a hug ‘cause she’s so happy to see my sorry ass alive ‘n well, and the girls kinda adopted her at this point. Ain’t that right?”

Jenna huffs, re-crosses her legs at her ankles. “Yea, well, you left out a bit of story here. Like how Sunshine didn’t speak for three days after because apparently she doesn’t like to be touched and the walkers we had to kill after all that commotion you caused…”

“Hey come on, it’s not like I tried to mug and kill myself-“

“-How Ann cried after Sunshine cleaned herself up a little and we saw that under all the blood lay actual injuries that would kill other people.”

Ann smiles sadly before adding, “And then I called her Angel for a bit but she wrinkled her nose at that so we settled for Sunshine in the end.”

“Or how _Sunshine_ showed us how to set snares and skin a rabbit because the only meat we had eaten in forever was pet food…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Ann shudders at the memory, but laughs softly.

“So,” Jen concludes, “I think it’s fair to say that she adopted us.”

“Don’t make us sound too pathetic, Jenna. It’s not like we’re total losers.” Ron’s voice is a little more serious now, but still playful all the same. Maybe he’s the kind to brag and tell stories where he’s the hero, but he’s not _stupid_ and he knows what he owes the stranger who literally dropped out of the sky and saved them in more ways than one.

Daryl’s hand hasn’t left the knife. His bow is resting against the tree trunk right next to him, ready to be grabbed and used if need be. The trio has assured him that there was only a small amount of walkers around recently, but Alexandria wasn’t exactly mysteriously spared by the undead as they found out the hard way, so he wouldn’t let his guard down anytime soon. That megaherd is still fresh on his mind, and while he doesn’t want to worry his new acquaintances, he’ll tell them about it in the morning.

He still wants to ask questions. He can tell they expect him to. But he’s almost certain that the questions he has, they won’t be able to answer.

“If you’re worrying about her, don’t. Girl’s a firecracker and tough as nails. Even with those headaches she’d get sometimes-“

“Jen! Hush now. You’ll only make him worry.”

“Well, guess it’s too late now.” Ron motions to Daryl’s face and apparently the surly poker face –look he had normally perfected was wearing thin.

Dropping his head to let his hair conceal his features, he shrugs a shoulder again. “Jus’ say how it is, OK? I wanna know.”

And it’s the truth, he wants to know. He’s soaking up the details. How she was fighting. How she was talking, what she was saying. That her wounds are terrifying and that she doesn’t like to be touched.

All of this is not drawing the happiest picture. Earlier, when they told him about her attitude, about having hope and still believing in good people- that was easier. Painful still, crazy, confusing, and surreal, but easier. If Sunshine is _her_ , and she still encompasses all of her core beliefs after all that... he can find her. Bring her home. She’d want that, he hopes.

“Well, whatever now, right?” Jen ignores Ann’s admonishing look and

focuses on Daryl. She’s got his full attention when she continues with a sigh.

“Flashes of pain, she’d call them. Short migraines. They came and went but she was good to keep quiet when it happened and stay smart. OK? She got shot in the head for fuck’s sake. I mean what’s a little pain compared to being dead?”

She was right of course, but her companions look uncomfortable now.

It takes a few moments before anyone speaks again.

“You know, we just miss her, man.” Ron shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing. “She was good and came at a time we really needed her. Y’know, I like to think maybe she needed us a little, too. I mean, she _hugged_ us goodbye.”

 

* * *

 

They called it a night not long after. Jenna and Ann offered to take first watch. Daryl was too tired to argue, too exhausted in all respects and he suspected if he died in his sleep it would be due to incompetence and not malicious intent. Ron’s snoring served as a lullaby, that man was out within two minutes, and while Daryl wondered how anyone could pass out that easily, sleep found him, too.

So they let him sleep until sunrise.

“Yo, sleeping beauty. Breakfast is ready.” Ann’s gentle nudge to the ankle wakes him before her voice could, and Daryl grunts in response.

“Y’all let me sleep all night. ‘S stupid.” His voice is thick with sleep, and he starts to get mad at himself for actually sleeping, for trusting these strangers until he remembers that _she_ trusted them, too. And that must mean something.

“Yea, well. Heard that line before. After we let _her_ sleep in.” She chuckles, handing him a bowl with meat that looks like charred squirrel. “Eat up, you need the calories.”

After breakfast, he tells them about the herd. Begins his story with Alexandria, more accurately with Aaron. How his group didn’t trust the guy who strolled up clean, smelling like laundry detergent, in a fucking _parker_ , with _photographs_ and how they almost didn’t go to that community that sounded far too good to be true. His tale is short, clipped. He wants to let them know that he gets it, that it wasn’t easy to trust, but that Alexandria is good. They would be good there and fit in, he thinks.

There is no time to tell about the prison, and he doesn’t want to go down memory lane. He’s not a storyteller either. They get it. And it’s still early in the day when he readies himself to leave. Jenna especially seems reluctant to let him go, bites her lip and fidgets as Ann hands him a pack with a few items – despite the bow and knife he didn’t even have a bottle of water on him. The trio is gracious to share. Funny how fast things can change in less than 24 hours.

“Spit it out, girl,” he prompts, and hears her draw in a nervous breath.

“When you find her, our Sunshine, will you tell her that we miss her?” She suddenly sounds shy, mixed with apprehension.

Maybe a little doubtful that he’ll find her, or that the girl made it on her own after all. But he has faith right now, an abundance of it. It’s easy at this moment for him to reply, “Sure. Don’t see why not.”

He smirks and shrugs like it’s no big deal, because it isn’t.

“And can you tell me… what’s her real name?”

It’s his turn now to draw in a breath, deep like a sigh. It’s been too long since he spoke her name. It’s been _so_ long since he said it without sorrow. It feels like an entirely different lifetime in which he got to say it to her.

“Beth. Beth Greene.”

The words tumble out not louder than a hushed whisper, but Jen hears them all the same. Smiles. Repeats them gently and he lets the syllables wash over him. And just saying this name, hearing _Beth Greene_ out loud makes her real again. Just like that.

He can’t be wrong. He’ll find her, protect her, take her home if she lets him. She might be a little bit less Beth and a little more Sunshine but he’d give everything to see her again.

So whether he is ready for it, or prepared to just go on this crazy trip- he leaves for the north. Ron, Jenna and Ann leave for Alexandria. They part ways with the promise to pass along messages – the trio to Rick about Daryl’s endeavor; and Daryl has to believe that Alexandria is safe and that his brother will understand why he did what he did. Hopes that his new friends make it those twenty miles. And that he will eventually make his way back, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. You're still here? Wow! 
> 
> Now that I've gotten this far, I guess it's fair to admit I will get to a reunion. I think this will only be 3 chapters long. So... bear with me :)
> 
> xx


	3. And when it happens I'll be miles away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He seeks her out. Maybe he's so wrong it's ridiculous, but he has to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed tags and rating for language mostly. Nothing explicit.

They pointed him in a very general direction. It has rained since she left them, and tracks are downright impossible to find. Daryl doesn’t know much besides that she still has those boots, so he will be able to recognize her footprints should he come across them. There is no doubt in his mind that he still can. Every little detail is about her is stored and filed away in a special box in his head and heart. A bright colored box with all the details that make her, her. His analysis of Beth Greene- the way she moves, her hand gestures, the way she purses her lips and her brow furrow, the shrug of her shoulders and twinkle in her eyes.

 

In that box, she _is._ Those preserved memories _are._ There is no alternative. In this space he has created for her she lives on- there is no red in there. No blood spatter. No dirt. Just the memory of her soft, pale skin, warmed by the sun. In there, her hair is wild, untamed and silvery bright. Everything is bright in that box. Her eyes are a bright blue, her laughter is brighter, and her singing is the brightest of it all.

 

But as much as he wants to sit down and open that box and revel in it, because that’s all he has, he trudges on. Careful and attentive because he can’t afford mistakes now, especially not when he’s this close.

 

And anyway. He has no guarantee, he might be entirely mistaking her identity. But whoever she turns out to be will hopefully head north, sure, but be smart about it. Make sure to stay near water and think ahead, stay away from dwellings unless absolutely necessary. Follow animal tracks as they stay where nature provides for them which means they will provide for her, too.

 

He knows she has a gun, limited ammo, and just a short bowie knife. She’s resourceful but can’t hunt big game. Knows she’s in no rush, but she wants to find a place for winter, and the air already starts to feel crisp.

 

The girl has no map, and neither does he. The people he just left weren’t from the region so he’ll have to take his chances and follow the next road to a gas station. Get a map, his bearings, and maybe find a sign that she did the very same.

 

Guilt about not returning to his family pops up every few miles. What if Abe and Sasha need him? What if Rick needs him? Did he make a terrible mistake, risking the lives of the people he loves for the life of someone who might be a complete stranger? Even though he’s been doing this for a while, it is still hard to accept that people rely on him. Need him, even want him there. He doesn’t have kids, never had as much as a pet, so this type of responsibility feels still so foreign to him. There is nothing natural about it, because Dixons look after themselves. Not after others, especially not people who aren’t blood. Even when people thank him these days, he still cringes. It doesn’t feel weird to do things for others, he feels it’s the right thing to do most of the time, but to be acknowledged for it, appreciated for it, feels dangerous.

 

Because relying on people makes you equally weak and strong. Every day is an uphill battle: because for Beth, he wants to see it as strength, and has to remind himself of it every day. (She isn’t there to do it for him. But she had promised. She had fucking promised and now he has to do it himself.) And if helping each other and being there for each other is strength, he has to go after that girl up there in the woods, anyway. She might need help, too, especially with her predicament. She’s alone and nearly unarmed and she might not be family, but he has to have faith that this is the right thing to do.

Would Beth want him to go and help her? _Yes, definitely yes._

 

Maybe it’s a little selfish. A little too spontaneous because yes, there are people depending on him, but he has to do this. So he pushes on. There is only so much guilt he can handle.

 

Eventually he gets the map, doesn’t find the tracks he hopes for. Finds a stream that looks pretty clean and follows it for a while until it leads him too far east. Follows his gut, his intuition. He would pray if he would be the praying kind. In a way he does, repeating a mantra of hoping his family is safe, hoping she is, and maybe a deity is listening, maybe there is some faith to have and hope after all. She showed him, of course she did, and now he needs to hold onto it.

 

X x x

 

It feels like he walks forever. His body leads him but in his head, he’s lost. After a while he has to stop thinking of Rick and the group, he has to stop thinking of Beth in terms of _Beth-_ he’s tracking. That’s all he does. It’s not different from tracking a deer at this point and of course she’s _not_ an animal, much more than simple prey, but he has to think like that. The air is getting colder, icy, every night is a challenge and he as to believe that he’s on the right track.

Whenever he comes across boot tracks, his heart rate speeds up despite the unlikeliness that these are the familiar tracks he’s hoping for. Most tracks are uneven, or not the right size or shoe but more often than not he catches up with a lone walker that mercifully never bears too much resemblance to her.

 

Men, women, a child even – he is still not good with walker children – he takes them out one by one with the knife rather than the bow. It feels more personal to get close like that, but more honorable as well: Acknowledging that they were human after all, people with goals and potential and hopes and dreams and all that jazz. It still matters, but with each pair of jaws biting, clicking, aiming his direction he loses a little bit of compassion. But keeps going. Keeps thinking of what she would think. Sees her smile, her blush and shrug of her shoulder, imagines her giggle. So he opens that box just a shade every now and again for a little brightness to keep him company.

 

Eventually he comes across a cabin. It’s well hidden, no obvious trail or road but smeared boot prints on the steps leading up to the wooden door. He’s unable to tell anything from the print, just a few partials around the cabin. Could be anyone. A solid little house, basic design but seemingly sturdy. It’s a foggy day and while he can see the valley ahead there is no telling how deep, big and long it is. At the moment, it doesn’t matter. It’s quiet, chilly, and this place looks decent enough to spend the night.

 

He’s not worried about someone being here but he _is_ weirded out by the key in the front door. Looks like a trap, but doesn’t feel like one. So eventually he turns that key and enters the one room house, only to be greeted by dust. The place feels even colder on the inside. There is a gas stove in the minimal kitchen, a tiny bed in the other corner, all made up. Wooden frame with a small mattress, sheets that look relatively clean. Table and two chairs in the middle of the room. Daryl takes one chair and puts in under the door handle even after locking with the key before turning his attention to the table: note pad on top, a broken pencil and some lines on the paper that read no words.

 

On top of the paper – a spoon, engraved with _Washington DC._

 

That spoon, he’s seen it before. It’s the bread crump he was looking for, another piece of the puzzle. It almost knocks the wind out of his lungs, because that almost feels too fucking _easy_ \- and when was it ever? Only when he reaches for the item he realizes he’s trembling, and lets out a shaky breath he’s been holding. Pulls out the chair and lowers his tired body to it. Both hands hold the spoon now, the metal is cold under his fingertips and in his palm and, god, he knows it’s just a fucking spoon, a tourist item. Produced in the millions and he could probably find one everywhere and all over the world.

But he’s here in the wilderness, in a small cabin in the woods. It’s not in the kitchen drawer. It’s not in the sink. It’s been placed, deliberately. Left behind on purpose. Can this be a coincidence?

 

He opens that bright box. Just a little. To the memory of the country club: Her hands fumbling with the spoon while she was crying, sobbing over peach schnapps and Hershel and really, the whole fucking situation.

And he’d been such an asshole, not knowing how to deal with her or her grief, this woman who made him take down a corpse to cover it up because dignity for the dead still mattered. Her new shirt was already stained with blood just mere minutes after putting it on and he had thought _we will never get rid of the blood and be clean again._

 

But she had dried her tears, jutted up her chin defiantly, pocketed the spoon and soldiered on. Followed him when he beckoned her to do so- full of trust even after he let her fend for herself in that dark hallway (which had been the scariest moment of his life- not stepping in when she fought that tall walker, but he knew she could do it and she had).

 

He had been proud of her that day, and never told her. Yes, it was a messy day and full of pain and grief but she had been so tough, so strong, challenging him and not just taking his shit and stood up for herself. Beth had spark and bite and perseverance, despite all they’d been through.

 

And he is _still_ proud and admiring her for it.

 

The spoon is warming up in his hand. He won’t make a fire tonight, he’s not sure if he should and he’s too tired to care. There is a blanket at the foot of the bed that looks cozy and he can’t even recall the last time he actually wanted to sleep in a bed. In Alexandria he most often took a couch just to be closer to the front door, not even bothering to take off his boots.

 

When he gets up to step over to the bed, forgoing dinner or a piss, he can feel how tired he truly is, his limps heavy and muscles sore. The spoon is still in the firm grip of his right hand, as if he’s afraid it might disappear the moment he turns his back to it. By the time his cheek hits the pillow – crossbow hugged to his chest, spoon still between his fingers – sleep immediately overcomes him.

 

X x x

 

Daylight wakes him. It’s warm under the blanket, and for a second he doesn’t want to move. But nature is calling, his stomach is rumbling and maybe he’s lucky and there is some food in the small kitchen cupboard. When he stretches his limbs and untangles from the sheets and blanket he can tell that he hasn’t moved all night. His back is stiff but he feels rejuvenated, this is the first night in a while he could actually sleep because his shelter is walker safe. What a strange feeling to wake up place with four walls and a roof again.

 

Slipping the spoon into his pocket, he makes his way over to the stove, tests the gas but it doesn’t even make a hiss. Opens the cupboard and finds a jar of peanut butter on the shelf. It’s two thirds empty but still better than the can of black beans he’d been saving.

 

He wants to use his fingers in the jar but stops himself quickly when he remembers the spoon, and can’t help but smile - a small smile he’s sure - as he dives it into the nutty goodness.

Nothing has tasted so good on his tongue in such a long time.

 

There are two small windows in the cabin, one facing the valley, the other the forest on the opposite side. No walkers stumbling around the trees, and when he looks out toward the valley, not a soul or body either.

 

The sun is higher than he expected, but the fog has finally cleared. So he opens the cabin door after removing the chair and the air still feels crisp, but a little warmer than the day before. Few birds are singing and a gentle breeze plays with the leaves on the ground. The sunshine is illuminating the valley.

 

It’s not as deep or long as he feared. Mostly clear of trees with a small lake at the bottom, picture perfect. It’s not surprising someone would want a cabin here, and it’s also not surprising when he spots another one on the western side of the valley. He squints, studies the landscape to determine the time and effort it will take him to get over there.

He could stay the day where he is, go hunting, rest some more and clean up. The river he was using is just half a mile back and this place is not bad at all. But… the second cabin, it’s like a beacon, it’s calling him. What if she’s there? The location is perfect. Anyone coming up the mountains and through the small valley would be in her vision, with the better vantage point. The incline would help fend off walkers though he knows there are only few in the area that far away from civilization.

 

There is no movement as far as he can see, no smoke or any sign that the cabin is inhabited at all. But while he considers his next steps his heart beats faster because she simply _has_ to be there. It just makes the most sense. She came across this first cabin where she left the spoon, then settled in the second one. The girl found the place she was seeking- a safe place up north, far away from people and walkers.

 

In the solitude she was obviously seeking.

 

No, he can’t stay here any longer, despite the exhaustion. His chase needs to come to an end, and it will today if he’s not delusional about the girl’s whereabouts. Less than half a day’s walk and he’ll know.

 

Even though his body is almost forcing to descend down the valley, he forces himself to refill his canteen. The thought of freshening up crosses his mind, and it’s a curious one, since when does he care how he looks and smells? It’s not like it matters anymore. He has not thought of his appearance for a long time but suddenly he finds himself washing, even takes the time to undress partially. The water is cold but the anticipation keeps him warm, a fluttering feeling low in his belly. It’s almost excitement.

Being excited again about something is also a foreign concept at this point in the apocalypse.

 

The water has been so clear and fresh up here, he forgoes boiling it- maybe later, he thinks, gathers dry leaves and small sticks.

 

Descending into the valley is easy. It’s almost a relief on the sore muscles and aching bones. Travelling the straight way over is a risk- if there is a person at the other cabin he might be shot on sight. But, he supposes, this would be his last leap of faith and he’s OK with that. Trying to sneak up on them from behind would be more suspicious and take much longer.

 

His mind is playing the what-if game. What if it’s not her? What if it’s her? What if she doesn’t remember him? Doesn’t trust him? Doesn’t want to come with him? What if no one is there at all?

 

Two hours into the hike he can scratch the last question off the list- smoke rises from the small chimney. It’s a message- _I know you’re there. You know I’m here._ It’s his chance to walk away. It could be a warning. Never does he see a person leave the cabin but he is not surprised. Why would she give away who she is? Or how many people are hiding inside?

 

What if she isn’t alone after all?

 

Reaching the incline, he can make out boot prints in the grass. There is the temptation to sit down and analyze them- compare them to _hers._

But now is not the time to open the memory box, it would just add more questions and dim his hopes most likely. So he just follows the footpath up to the wooden structure, willing his mind to stay focused and alert. The crossbow is strapped to his back, and this is his message: _I’m not a threat to you._

 

His hearts starts to sink the closer he steps to the cabin. Would Beth not come out and greet him? Is this a monumental mistake? He scrubs a hand over his face. Despite he chilly weather he’s sweating from the uphill climb; the nervousness that creeps up his spine like cold fingers sends shivers through him in spite of it. Before he knows it he’s level with the shelter, rounding the side to reach the door.

 

The structures are very similar, he notes. Just another one room house, no porch, but slightly elevated from the ground with two steps leading up to the door.

 

No key in the door this time. That would’ve been ridiculous anyway.

 

He curls and uncurls his fists at his side, is tempted to lift the crossbow in his arms, takes it off and drops it instead. The weight off his shoulder doesn’t anything to lessen the weight he’s feeling at all. Suddenly he’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into. For the entire journey he’d envisioned this moment, this _reunion_ , and suddenly he has to face the fact that this might not be one at all. Could be a fuck-up, could be a huge disappointment at best.

 

Inhale, exhale. Inhale again. He huffs, shakes his head to himself and wishes for a cigarette. He’s just got one left and it was supposed to be a celebratory one, for the lack of a cigar and all. Now he wonders if he the smoke could ease his nerves, if just a little.

 

Of course, there is the option to just leave, turn around and just go back over to the other cabin. Given that the person inside this one won’t shoot him in the back.

Another option is to just wait. Make his fire and boil the water, eat some jerky. Let them come outside when and if they want.

 

And he could just knock. Rip off that bandaid. Call through the door and say _Hi, I’m a friend. I don’t want anything from you. I’m your new neighbor from across, just wanted to say hi._

Could call through the door what he really wants to say: _Beth? It’s me, Daryl. I found you, girl. I finally found you._

He finds himself scared. The pleasant anticipation has left him and is replaced by fear in the form of a violent shiver down his back. Determination is leaving him in such a rush he turns and sits down on the stairs, sighing deeply. Unconsciously he lifts his thumb to his mouth and bites at it, letting his eyes wander over the valley once more. This truly is a good spot, safe.

For the first time since embarking on this wild goose chase, he wishes for someone to be here with him. Rick perhaps, now his oldest friend since the world went to shit, who would probably just sit here with him in silence, letting Daryl work through this.

Or maybe Glenn, who would crack a joke and urge him on to just fucking knock.

Aaron, who would probably hitch a tent and offer to set some snares until Daryl made up his mind.

 

What if he just leaves now?

 

Behind him, the door opens, slowly. Daryl freezes, he’s vulnerable with his back turned to God knows who, down on the step. If he felt fear before, those seconds ticking by in silence are agonizing. His body refuses to obey commands, won’t move. There is so much tension in his bones he fears they might snap.

 

“Are you real?” Her voice is hardly above a whisper, there is a tremor in it that sneaks its way into shoulders, and suddenly he drops his head between his hands.

All at once he knows it’s _her_ , it’s Beth and he can’t bear to move and to look because what if he’s gone mad and turns and she isn’t there?

She’s asking him if he’s real and he wants to turn and ask her the same.

_Are you real?_ How _are you real?_

 

It was mind game. It was exciting and hopeful to dream that she wasn’t dead after all. That Jenna, Ann and Ron weren’t full of shit, and that _Sunshine_ really is _Beth._

 

He’s sobbing into his hands. She must be so terrified. All he had thought of was finding her, pulling her into his arms and taking her home to their family. Hadn’t dared to think of what she’d been through, not in depth.  

 

There is movement behind him and he flinches, his body almost too tense to, and a tentative hand brushes across his shoulder blade. The hand trembles, and then so does he.

 

Her breathing hitches into a sob of her own. “You still have your wings.”

 

His tongue wants to form words, there is so much he needs to say, from _I’m so fucking sorry_ to _I’m so fucking happy._

 

She must be on her knees because her arms sneak around him, one above his left arm, the other below the right and around his waist. Her cheek against his back and suddenly her warmth spreads into him. When he opens his eyes her hands have curled into his vest and shirt, holding onto him for dear life, and while her embrace is firm it’s not painful, he can still breathe and has to draw in a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. The hands are unmistakably hers. Much rougher than he remembers, dirtier than he imagined, the skin still pale but marred with scars, scratches, and dirt all up her forearms. There is no telling where his shivers stop and hers start but above all he hears her cry. And while that used to be the most heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard, there is a feeling of exhilaration spreading through him, a warmness squeezing his heart.

 

They’re crying but tears can dry. Skin can be cleaned. Wounds can heal.

 

His hands, still wet with tears, cup hers, and she slightly uncurls her fists so his fingers can interlace with hers as he pulls her arms tighter around him. Neither of them are ready yet to let go and look at each other it seems, and that’s OK. They have time. They have all the fucking time in the world.

 

X x x

 

They stay like this for a while until their breathing evens and their tears dry. It’s so quiet all around them, so peaceful. But they need to move. He needs to see her, finally hold her- maybe she’ll let him.

 

She knows who he is. She hasn’t yelled at him that she hates him for leaving her behind. That is more he could’ve ever wished for. Tentatively, he untangles himself from her, but keeps holding onto one of her hands when he turns. Doesn’t dare to look at her as he pulls her up, looking at her sock-clad feet. Of course she’d take off her boots in her home.

 

“Beth, I…”

 

“Please… look at me, Daryl.” To hear his name from her lips again has tears welling up in his eyes once more, so he presses them shut, lifts his head and finally searches her face.

 

She’s still so beautiful. Her cheeks are sunken in, appearing gaunt, having lost their youthful roundness. There are scars- the ones he kept refusing to remember from the hospital hallway – now healed but still pink standing in stark contrast with her pale skin. Hair is pulled deep across her forehead, covering the one scar that devastated everything, the entry wound of the bullet.

But she’s still so beautiful.

 

There is just too much to see but most prominently is the quivering of her bottom lip and the redness of her eyes. They don’t shine as much as they used to, and suddenly he just wants to hold her.

 

He wonders what he looks like to her. Wonders what they’ll do now.

 

“Girl…” It appears neither of them can manage more than whispers, as if anything louder would scare the other away.

 

There is the overwhelming urge to touch her again, reassure himself that this isn’t a dream, and with a swiftness that even surprises him he pulls her flush to his chest. He’s never touched her so hastily, always being more hesitant and apprehensive even. Her tiny gasp as he pulls one arm around her shoulder, the other around her neck, doesn’t surprise him, but the startled intake of breath, stiffness of her back and frantic push of her hands against his torso do.

 

When he loosens his hold, she pushes herself away from him in a panic, scrambling backwards and falling behind the table, using the chair as an additional shield.

Her eyes are wide in fear, her breathing coming in hard shallow breaths.

 

“God… Beth, did I – “

 

“Stop! Please... don’t come any closer!” The high pitch and loudness of her voice feels like a punch and he knows he’s fucked up.

 

His hands are up on surrender and he takes a cautious step back.

“Just… tell me what you need me to do, OK?” Voice as calm as he can muster.

 

Beth still cowers, is gasping for air, shaking her head, and then she’s pointing at the door. _Go._

He does, slowly, closes the door behind him and grabs his crossbow from the ground. Confusion washes over him with little waves of panic, he needs to know what just happened and why she was so scared and even through the door he can still hear her gasp for air.

 

 _She’ll pass out,_ he thinks, _what have I done?_

 

At once he remembers Jenna mentioning that Sunshine didn’t like to be touched and he curses himself because of course not everything is alright, of course it was different when she hugged him sitting in front of the house and once again he his mind wanders to her time at Grady and what happened there and since. He’s pacing, he’s angry at himself, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

In the past he would’ve stomped off into the woods, going for an extended hunt. Maybe attempted to track a deer, seeking solitude to clear his mind. Now it seems impossible leave the shelter behind, and even if he can’t be with her right now, he can stand watch. Protect her in any way he can (if he can at all).

 

So he finds a good spot, starts his fire. Doesn’t take him long, it’s a mindless task at this point, and boils his water. Focuses on listening to the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the water. Once it boils, he rips open a tea bag and shakes peppermint into water, saving the rest for later. No sounds reach him from the cabin anymore.

 

He’ll wait, however long it takes.

 

X x x

 

It doesn’t take as long as he thought, the sun is past the peak, he guesses it’s not even late afternoon. No walkers still and he caught a curious squirrel with the bow, currently cooking it over the small fire pit.

 

Beth steps out, an oversized hoodie covering her small frame, which makes her look even smaller than she is. The squirrel meat looks about done, so he pulls the meat apart, offers her a piece when she reluctantly steps over.

 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, accepting the offer and sitting down to his right, a few feet away.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It wasn’t you, or anything. Just…” Deep sigh. “I just get weird, sometimes.”

 

He hums in reply, biting his tongue. So many questions that threaten to spill out of his mouth. “Eat before it gets cold, girl.” Maybe his voice is rougher than he intended, because he watches her pull up her shoulders ever so slightly.

 

“Didn’t have squirrel in a while, they don’t end up on my snares usually. This is a feast.” She offers a little smile.

 

“Ain’t no feast without pigs feet,” he quips with a little laugh, but when he looks at her he can tell she doesn’t get the reference.

 

Her brows furrow, they look at each other for a little while. Neither of them eat.

 

Again it’s her who breaks the silence.

“Dunno if I can talk about it. Never thought I’d see anyone I knew again, so… I’m not ready. Never thought anyone would find me.” Another little shrug, then a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“But, y’know, my head’s not that bad. There’s blank spots, but it doesn’t matter.”

 

Then, sudden excitement that almost startles him. “Isn’t this place perfect? It’s what we always wanted. Up north, walls and a roof. I hardly ever get any walkers, some come through the valley and I just wait for ‘em and get them with my knife. No other people. If they come I think I’ll see ‘em comin’, too.”

 

She nibbles at the meat, and he suddenly wishes he had gone to hunt a deer. The more he looks at her the more he worries about her size- yes, up north and away from danger is good, but how good if you’re starving to death?

 

“I met you latest friends. Ron’s a bit of a handful.”

 

For the first time she genuinely beams up at him. “You did, is that how… oh my God…” She wrings her hands together in excitement, lets out a relieved giggle that’s genuine and makes his heart skip a beat. To hear that sound again, he could die happy now.

 

“They are alive, all three?”

 

“Yep, almost killed me though. We got talkin’. They told me about Sunshine. They miss you.”

 

Tears are welling up in Beth’s eyes again, but they seem to be happy ones.

 

“Said you still have hope and believe in good people. Knew it was you.”

 

Her face is hiding away from him, burrowed between her knees. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes, no? You know it. You know it better than them.”

 

They have history, and the things they’ve seen together… he gets it. That trio, they don’t. To them, she came into their lives, saved them, showed them a few tricks. On their behalf, she was strong and optimistic and that perfect example of hope. But sitting here, he can tell it’s not that easy. It never was and maybe he too got swapped up in the wave of optimism.

 

Hope, yes. Sure.

Good people? Less than a tentative maybe.

 

(He’s thinking back to Grady, remembering the stories that Noah relayed to Rick who relayed it to him.)

 

Pain crosses her face at once and he leans over instinctively, touching her shoulder. Her hands are raised to her temples and she chokes out a sob.

 

“Beth, what… what’s goin’ on, what can I do?”

 

She seems unable to reply but falls to the side, her elbow connecting to ground with a dull thud as she whimpers and curls into a fetal position.

The panic that rises constricts his chest painfully.

For a moment he hesitates, the last time he touched her she was in a panic but now she’s in pain and she can’t lie out here. There’s no way she can lie on the cold ground for much longer, so he scoops her up as gently as he can. To his surprise she curls herself closer to him, still whimpering in obvious pain as he carries her inside (taking off shoes be damned) and places her on the bed.

 

“Got anythin’?” He questions, but knows the answer already. Looking around, he can tell she doesn’t have a whole lot, and Daryl has to leave her side and go for his pack. There might be some painkillers in there somewhere? All while in the background he can hear Beth’s pained cries.

 

Eventually he produces a pill that might an Aleve, something against pain he hopes, which he forces down her throat with a sip of water. After that all he can do extinguish the fires, gather his few things and barricade the door. Safety is an illusion and all he wants is to sit with her. The whimpers cease gradually, and she falls into a fitful sleep, sweat on her brow and tension in her body- she looks about ready to snap. No, he hasn’t gotten the chair, he’s sitting on the floor and his ass is falling asleep but it doesn’t matter. Her hand clutching his, almost painfully is all that matters.

 

X x x

 

 

The moon is up high when she wakes. There still seem to be pain, but she’s gaining her bearings, whispers, “you’re still here.”

 

“Got nowhere else to be, Greene.”

 

She hums in reply, smiles, pulling his hand closer to her chest.

“Haven’t spoken that much in… since then. It’s tough on me when I overexert myself.”

 

It breaks his heart that she’s apologizing again. Like it’s an inconvenience she feels terrible about. Blonde strands have fallen away from her forehead, revealing the crater-like scar and dent following the bullet’s path. Instinctively she reaches up to pick at the raised skin, but he stops her with a gentle grip to her wrist.

 

“’s OK. You better now?”

 

She nods.

 

“I was supposed to be good. In my dreams, I was supposed to be healthy and pretty and clean – “

 

“You’re perfect.”

 

They stare at each other some more, his hand still gentle on her wrist. There’s a tremor again in both of them.

 

A blush colors her cheeks, and it makes him happy.

 

“I want… I want to be held by you but I cannot ask you to lie down with me. It’s too much. I’m sorry but it’s too much and I feel like dirt and so worthless but I –“

“Sit with me. Down here. Next to me.”

 

Beth stares at him, surprised. It’s the easiest solution and maybe it’s safe enough for her he hopes. Gracefully, fearfully she pulls up her legs and then lowers herself down onto the floor next to him. Shivers but interlaces her hand with his so tight both of their hands must hurt but he holds on. They are in pain anyway. They suffer right now and it’s not fair.

 

She never asked about any of them and he never asked about her survival. This is a beginning, no end. This is their rebirth.

 

They share warmth, radiating off of them, they are trying so hard to be strong for each other. The smell of her is in his nostrils, the sweetest scent he ever smelled. Sweet and sweaty and somewhat salty, but so _her._

Her head on his shoulder. He can feel her pulse in his thumb and hear her breathing as she rests on him.

 

They might be OK. Maybe they could be.

 

Tomorrow is a new day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this I had no idea where this is going... I am still not really sure. The geography isn't accurate so please forgive inaccuracies. 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter. <3
> 
> (Sorry for screwing up the posting. Finally noticed and fixed it.)


	4. We'll be lacing the same shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's found her, but what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am so SORRY. I've been in a terrible place in my life and words just wouldn't come (especially not sensical ones). But I certainly do plan on completing this story, however long it will end up being- truly hope there are still a few of you out there. If you're reading this, Hi! <3 Please enjoy.

He wakes up before she does, dawn just creeping through the windows and starting to light up her features. Not that he needs it, he knows her body so well it’s not hard to imagine her sitting next to him, head resting against his shoulder, hand still intertwined with his and resting on his leg. Her grip is soft now with sleep, not hard and desperate anymore as earlier.

It’s her words that run through his mind- about feeling like  _ dirt _ and  _ worthless _ and how she thought she’s supposed to be  _ clean.  _ Maybe it was the pain meds speaking or maybe it was her but he knows he needs to let her know that even at their dirtiest he never found her smelling bad and when it comes to worth, he always considered her worthy of the best he could possibly imagine.

But he knows there’s more to this and he can’t let his mind wander there just yet.

And it is like a fucking romance novel but he can’t help it, turning his head slightly he inhales the smell of her hair, which is a tad greasy but she still smells like he remembers and it’s intoxicating. To him, the smell of her was always good and reminded him of safety. Of life, of home even. In the prison, she smelled like formula, like Judith. The baby smell was attached to her and it made him want to bottle it and carry it with him, because everything there was for Judy, in a way. Everything they did there was fighting for Judith, who represented their future and something worth fighting for when sadness and desperation overtook them. Giving up was always an option, but they did never, simply couldn’t. Who could deny sweet Judith a thing?

Beth doesn’t smell like the baby anymore. Instead she smells like sweat, like the woods. A little bit like the blanket behind them, the clothes that must’ve been washed in the small lake in valley. Still he wants to bottle it because it’s  _ her _ and what if she’s taken away again?

Before he knows it, he grips her hand a little tighter. The urge to wake her is there as well- he has so many questions that keep bubbling to the surface. It wouldn’t be a good conversation, certainly not better than the one about the all-encompassing  _ how-  _ how the fuck is she still alive. How did she make it here. How did she survive to begin with. How did she survive Grady.

How is she truly doing?

She sighs against him, pulls at his hand but it remains on his thigh. The fact that she gets to do that at all still has him marvel at her strength.

But he sees her now a little bit better, too. In a way, he was chasing Sunshine, the beacon of hope and light and she’s still that to an extent; but she’s also pain and darkness.

And he made her cry, overexerted her and she had a migraine that scared the shit out of him. What if she got one of those while outside, all by herself? It makes him think back of Ron’s tale, Beth hiding in the tree, and maybe that was what saved her after all. Thank fuck it did. The thought of her dying by walker, after a fucking bullet to the head seems ridiculous, too crazy to entertain.

He wishes for that magic wand, with a flick of his wrist he could make things right, undo things that weren’t good. For a few moments though, with her sleeping form resting against him, he can appreciate the sheer luck of the situation.

 

* * *

 

Once she stirs he realizes he actually fell asleep again. Beth untangles herself and falls away, against the cabin wall with a grunt before getting up to her feet, staggering toward the door.

“Where you goin’?”

She doesn’t answer but steps out, knife in hand.

_ He’s not her chaperone. _

As he watches her go into the woods, he wonders if he should follow but refrains from doing so against all of his instincts. Instead he worries at his fingers again- letting her out of sight for however short makes him burst into anxiety.

Beth returns with a rabbit. Seems very pleased with it, though she doesn’t speak a word. Must’ve set a snare and pride swells up within him.

A walker wanders out of the woods- she dispatches him. The corpse doesn’t carry anything of value, she pulls him up to the steps and spreads his guts on the lower stair. It’s a good tactic to hide them in case that walker was a precursor for more, he muses, though he can’t imagine a herd coming through those woods. But you cannot be too careful. Best to disguise their human smell if that is what it takes to survive. Beth is covered up to her elbows in blood and it’s disturbing to watch.

 

* * *

 

 

They settle into a routine. He hunts, she cooks. It’s so domestic he wants to scream.

Daryl holds her hand at night, she still insists on sitting on the ground instead of using the bed. After a while he realizes her nights are a silent panic- she doesn’t cry out in the midst of a nightmare. She’s paralyzed most of the time, stiffened until he shakes her awake as gentle as he can.

They don’t talk about that during the day either. They won’t speak much- he was never one for chatting and she just don’t speak anymore. Doesn’t hum or sing to herself when completing a task. Doesn’t bother him with a thousand questions.

( _ Do you miss watching football? … Did you have a favourite videogame? … If you could snap your fingers and any type of food would appear, what would you choose? … Can we find some soda? I really loved cherry coke, mainly because Shawn and Maggie hated it so I never had to share…) _

The silence is comfortable at times, but tension-filled more often than not.

He’s the one to break it. Tells her about Maggie and the others being alive, about Alexandria and why he ended up on the mountains anyway. Judith is crawling now and learning her first words, Carl is having a girlfriend of sorts, Carol does look stupid in a flower cardigan but she’s tougher than ever.

There are tales here and there but mainly about the good, like Aaron finding them, their new friends Abe and crew, the crops they’re planting and the hot water showers. Solar panels and the clean sheets and yes, there is a jar of peanut butter in their kitchen, the crunchy kind.

She listens, smiles politely as if those are mere stories. There are no happy tears or tiny gasps or even giggles (not that he’s  _ funny _ by any definition of the word, but still, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t fully explain).

“Y’know we can’t make it through winter here.”

Beth shifts uncomfortably now, shrugging a shoulder. Her eyes move around the room, taking stock, assessing. 

“We got a roof. Can get the stuff from the other cabin.”

“Ain’t enough.”

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

Daryl is taken aback by the disinterest in her voice. “Think you can make it all by yourself out here? “

Sounds a little mocking. She just shrugs and slightly shakes her head.

She’s picking at her boots. They’re worn down, sole almost the point of developing a hole and the stitching has already ripped open in multiple places.

It’s early evening, the last of golden light coloring the interior of the cabin. Again Daryl wished that the cabin wouldn’t be so Spartan, there isn’t even a board game or a deck of cards to pass the time. It’s just them and their silence. It’s avoidance.

He wishes she would still sing. Remembers how the candlelight colored her hair a similar shade of gold and honey at the funeral home when everything was far less painful. She sang and played the piano so gently and carefully and he wanted to stay in that house with her. For as long as they could. Make it a safe place, stay alive and get stronger again after starving on the road for weeks.

This cabin is so different, and it’s far more dangerous. It’s got four walls and a roof but it’s a deathtrap all the same. Nature will kill them here, the cold winter with no provisions, nowhere to quickly go scavenge. No warm clothes, no way to know how cold it’s going to get and for how long.

And he knows she knows it, too. She’s not stupid, and despite what she went through he knows that she’s not confused about this fact. Made it all the way up here by herself, can’t have the delusion that this is the best place to live unless she’s looking to slowly die.

Sure, with the right preparation it could be a good spot to stay over winter. Stocked up with weeks of food for the coldest stretch, when all animals hide and the snow is too deep. Fleece and wool in abundance, gloves and hats and proper boots. Firewood chopped and stored dry inside along a wall.

Beth sighs deeply, rubbing her temples. She never complains but it doesn’t take a doctor to tell that she’s in pain still. They’ve used up all the painkillers and mercifully, those strong migraines don’t seem to hit her too often.

“I know it’s stupid, wantin’ to stay.” She pauses, grinding her teeth. “I just wish things would remain as simple as they are.”

Daryl waits for her to continue, unsure what to reply. So far he wasn’t sure if she was just in denial of their situation, and how dire it could become, or if she was busy thinking and worrying and just not sharing it with him. He’s not sure why it feels a little unpleasant that she keeps all her thoughts to herself.

Which is maybe one of the things that seem to be so very  _ unlike her _ .

“I told you before, I didn’t expect to find any of you again. Guess I just resigned myself to live until it was over. Didn’t want to be taken by people again or killed by walkers. This place here… ‘s perfect. It’s secluded and dry and I just… I dunno. Just livin’ one day at a time I guess.”

He can see her jaw moving again, clenching together tight and worrying the inside of her cheek. For a moment longer he waits for her to continue, unsure if she expects a reply. It’s not that he has any words of wisdom to share. Her mindset is very familiar to him, taking things one day at a time instead of worrying about the weeks and months to come. And it’s easier to live like that when you are alone, but  impossible at Alexandria with the responsibility of dozens of people who need to be fed and kept alive.

Finally she searches his eyes, curious to see his reaction. Holds his gaze while he stumbles over the words that won’t come, so she continues at last.

“I tried to never think about any of you. To you, I was dead. So to me, you all had to become ghosts, too.”

Another shrug and she’s back to picking at her boots, wispy hairs falling in her face and covering her eyes again.

“But you ain’t dead, Beth. Your family ain’t either, so… you got a decision to make.”

It’s clearly an attempt to sound casual, trying to swallow the bile in his throat that rose at her mentioning that they all thought she was dead. The worst mistake of all the mistakes he can think up – leaving her behind, with a lethal injury. Declaring her dead without a grave and … this wasn’t the time. They weren’t ready for this talk yet, like so many others.

“Not much of a decision when I only got one choice.” There is a dry laugh at the end of her sentence and he cannot tell if it’s in good spirits or not, her body-language is still defensive.

Though it’s mostly always defensive now. Always on guard and though his fingers itch he can’t touch her  - no nudge against her boot or the graze of an elbow to snap her out of too deep or too dark a thought. Those small touches he came to cherish so much at the time of the funeral home. 

Allowing her touch, sure. Like at night when she sits close to share body warmth, it’s her initiating it and he understands that this is what she needs. It’s a question of control. 

He almost snorts- Beth gets that they need to go. Might not like it but she gets it and he’s sure that tomorrow, she’ll pack her meager belongings, tilt her head in mild indignation and they’ll stalk out of those woods and back towards their family. 

But they’re not picking up where they left off- they are getting reacquainted at an excruciatingly slow pace. For every expression and reaction that is familiar, there are also those he cannot place, and he knows patience is not his strongest suit by far. 

Wordlessly, they spend the rest of evening and settle in for the night. Emotionally drained and exhausted beyond belief.  
Tomorrow will come soon enough. Another unbelievable day of them both alive and together. Just gotta have some more faith.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy, you're still here? Hope this chap wasn't too disappointing. The next one is in the works, promise. Pace will pick up, too. :) thx for sticking around, and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated <3


	5. I've been talking with the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to make a decision- winter is a threat as much as the undead are. They are still strangers in a way and everything still hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so very sorry for updating this so late. I don't think I can do the story I want to tell justice. To those still sticking around, thank you. So, so much. I WILL finish this, promise. Even if it takes me forever. <3 
> 
> All and every feedback is appreciated. <3

It’s raining, of course it does. He should’ve seen the signs of the weather changing the day before, but there is no use to lament. It’s only a downpour, no storm or worse- early snow. 

As expected, Beth’s belongings are packed before the morning has fully arrived. Now she is standing at the window, facing the valley, yet again deep in thought. It’s quiet again, no more walkers, and Daryl is almost glad that the rain is washing away the walker’s blood from the bottom step of the cabin. Being out in the woods, like this, away from the undead and the living is peaceful, a delusion of safety. Still, for a moment he can pretend- It’s Beth and him, out on a hunting trip. They will bring venison to their family, smoke some of the meat and prepare for winter in the safety of Alexandria’s walls. Everyone is safe and happy and life is good.

“They’ll ask me all those questions. Y’know. The ones that you have, but don’t ask.” Beth says it in an almost mocking tone, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his reaction over her shoulder. 

“Mhmm”, he agrees, shrugs for good measure, unsure if she tries to provoke him. “It’s your sister, you know how she is --” 

“Except that I don’t. Not really. I mean, it’s not about my memory. We’ve all changed and I’d be a fool to assume she’s just the same.” 

“Is still your sister. Still loves you.”

She shrugs. “What good does that do?” Her tone is no longer mocking or defensive, but dejected.

“Dunno what you want me to say, girl. Love might not get you through a winter but a loving sibling is sure as hell more than most people have these days.” An unexpected pain rises up in Daryl’s chest and it takes him a moment to recognize it. It’s grief. Maybe he was thinking about Maggie but now he is also thinking about Merle. And yes, love can mean jackshit these days but he’d give a hand of his own to have his brother alive and by his side again. Which is why suddenly he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. After all her silence, this is not the conversation he’s willing to have. 

Another pause fills the cabin, only to be interrupted by a sniffle. “I know you must think I’m such a brat. I get it, I’m ungrateful. Maybe even stupid to be wastin’ my time here instead of wantin’ to see her.” Beth rubs at her face angrily, still facing window. Daryl shifts uncomfortably on his chair, abandoning the bolts he was inspecting. It’s something he won’t ever get used to, her tears and the way that part of his body yearns to do something, to reach out, while his limbs become heavy as lead, unable to move and even his tongue feels to thick to speak.

Again it is her that continues.  
“Going to that place makes it real. That I’m still alive. I mean, who says right now I’m not just losing my mind, conjuring up the image of you?” Beth huffs a laugh. “Might just’ve gone crazy.”

Daryl shakes his head, and his fingers find a splinter on the surface of the table to pick at. “Nah, ‘s probably me who’s gone mad. Wondering what the probability is to find a single girl in the forest without a GPS in the middle of the apocalypse.”

First nothing, then- a giggle. Finally Beth turns around at his almost-joke, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot as he expected but she’s smiling, an actual smile that reaches her eyes and it’s the prettiest thing in the world. 

“I'm actually serious about it”, he quips, and Beth shakes head, still grinning. 

“Right, you’re always serious. Couldn’t’ve anyone catch you laughing, right?” 

And before he knows it, his face does the most uncommon thing- he’s grinning in reply. When he catches himself he quickly averts his eyes, almost embarrassed but the heat in his checks lingers for a little while. 

xxx

They end up moving over to the other cabin once the rain lets up, to have a headstart in the morning. The hike over there is quiet, comfortably so, which Daryl appreciates because he likes being able to listen to the surrounding forest. It’s easy to miss a sound that can mean the difference between life and death. Also, he wants to take the chance to take stock of Beth’s physique- in the most practical sense. After what she’s been through it’s not foolish to assume that she isn’t at the peak of her fitness, and he can witness this when she visibly fights with the incline on the other side of the valley.  
It’s him who calls for a break, knowing that she’s too stubborn to ask for one. The worry about her migraines is always there, doesn’t matter that she wants to appear tough. 

Beth knows what game he’s playing, he can see her opening and closing her mouth, attempting to come up with a grumpy reply, but he just plops down and busies himself with his water bottle. 

She concedes. Wipes the sweat off her brow and takes the bottle wordlessly when offered. It’s cold out, but they are sweating with exertion.

“When I came here and found the key in the door, thought this place might be a trap. Was foggy, couldn’t look down the valley or beyond.” 

She hums almost imperceptibly, encouraging him to continue.

“Was good to have a roof, had been a while. But the best part was finding that spoon, just... knew it was yours. Hoped anyway.” He produces the utensil from his pocket, thumbs gliding over the metal. “Never thought I’d be so damn happy to see a spoon in my life.”

She hums again, nods.  
“Couldn’t leave you signs. Didn’t know where I was going or who might find ‘em. When I found the valley, I knew this was it, t’was gonna be my place.”  
Her delicate fingers are combing through the grass by her side, gently. A calming rhythm. A soft breeze carresses their warm cheeks. 

“I was excited, y’know? This was a good thing to happen to me at last and… I wanted to leave you a note. I tried, I really did. But… I can’t write anymore.” 

Beth grabs a fistful of grass and yanks, effectively ripping the strands apart and out of the soil.  
“It’s not like I didn’t know it. We figured that out at the hospital. It was just. There are so many thoughts and words in me and I can’t share them. It’s like my head is too full of everything--” Palms pressing against her temples, getting dirt all over her face. 

“Beth, you need to--”

“No! Don’t tell me what to do, no one ever gets to tell me what to do again!”

Anger, so much of it as she pushes her head between her knees, shielding herself off. It happened so fast- a normal conversation, finally, and now her shoulders are shaking in either rage or pain, he doesn’t know. His own heart is beating faster, anxious. Gripping the spoon so tight he might bend it, racking his brain how to approach her.  
Daryl is glancing behind him, they aren’t far from the cabin and he should really get her there. He doesn’t want to have to tell he to keep her voice down, doesn’t want to aggravate her further. He’s angry with himself, that he brought up the stupid spoon; he’s angry at the bullet that ripped through her brain.  
Her journal was always dear to her, something she cherished. He remembers seeing her handwriting everywhere- at the prison, on notes, on lunch bags. On lists she wrote for the runs they organised. On the clipboard at the pantry, their inventory. She always took joy in her writing, which was clear and tidy and loopy and -- now it isn't. 

Suddenly he wonders if she can play the piano still.

Beth is breathing hard and fast, seemingly calming herself. Not that he would know what to do if not, as he still clings to the spoon and notices how tight his muscles are coiled, just as hers must be.  
Perhaps he should finally get used to feeling so frustrated.

“ ‘m sorry-”  
“I’m sorry, Daryl-”

Their eyes finally meet, hesitantly. They awkwardly stumble over their next sentences- insisting no one needs to apologize, saying sorry again for talking over the other, but by the end of it she has a half-smile on her face that doesn’t seem to be a lie. 

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“Yea, Greene. We are.”

xxx

The way out of the forest is cold and strenuous. Even sunny days do not provide much warmth because of the density of the trees, a thick blanket of leaves covering the ground. Cold moisture is in the air and Beth now wears a terribly smelling jacket they have taken off a corpse. Better this than freezing, but Daryl still can’t wait to come across a settlement again to find a few items for their travels. 

They’re camping out around a small fire, big enough to provide a pitiful amount of warmth, small enough to not attract attention. Eventually their luck will run out, he knows, it’s been far too long since he’s seen a bigger group of walkers or humans. Luck is not something he ever wants to rely on again. 

“They told me you were dead. At the hospital.” Beth pulls the jacket tighter around her herself, hugging her knees. They are sitting shoulder to shoulder, behind them the remains of a rotten tree trunk which provides additional shelter. She shifts, wriggling her toes in her boots, an attempt to keep the tension out of her limbs.  
“I didn’t believe them, didn’t want to believe them anyway, just… you were just gone. And they made it clear that I was not to leave to look for you.”

Daryl stokes the fire gently, adds a few small sticks to give it shape.  
“Was the worst part, not knowin’. Where you are, with who.. or why. Just saw that fucking car with the white cross.” He pauses again. They’re both stuck in memories of that night, of the following days. One day he’ll tell her about running all night until he collapsed at the crossroads, the Claimers, but first she might share about Grady.  
“Noah told us a little about that place. As much as we needed to know to get you and Carol.” 

He feels her shiver, maybe it’s because he’s mentioned Noah, but he doubts it. Beth pulls in on herself, inhaling deeply. Turns her face away from the fire, away from him. From his periphery he sees her hair reflecting the fire, it’s gotten so long and unruly but he notices a patch of shorter curls on the top left. 

_It’s where the bullet exited._ How is he supposed to feel about that? Fists clenching tight until his nails bite into his palm. 

It still feels like the bullet wasn’t the worst that happened to Beth by any stretch of the imagination. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Almost inaudible. Almost like she doesn’t want the answer after all. 

After a beat and a sigh, “Yes.” 

“Was it quick?” 

He hates this so much. “No.”

“OK.” A whisper, sounding indifferent but he knows she’s anything but. 

After a little while she turns back toward him and the fire, places her hand on his forearm expectantly so he turns over his hand and allows her to intertwine the fingers.  
Neither of them get much sleep that night, dozing off only in short intervals until daylight returns. 

xxx

“I’ve killed people. I mean… the living.” 

They’re following a gravel road, probably used by game wardens and hunters. The weather has been merciful today so far, but they are low on water and exhausted from the constant moving and lack of sleep. Her announcement comes with a soft voice and nonchalance that doesn’t quite go well with her statement. 

“They deserve it?” He prompts, though there is no doubt in his mind that they did indeed deserve death. 

“Yes.” Shrug of one shoulder. “I mean we kind of all deserve it now. No one’s got clean hands anymore.”

She spares him a glance. Smiles. Fake smile maybe but he’s got the sunlight in his eyes, so he can only guess.  
“Chin up. It’s just how things are now. We gotta put it away. It’s you, or them. So you gotta be the one to pull the trigger first.” 

“You helped Ron and the girls though. You know that not everyone is bad.” 

“Yea, I guess… there are still good people. Like you.” Genuine smile now. 

Maybe he should bite his tongue but he starts to realize that she seems to need a little prompting, and just because the conversation will be uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s not important to talk about it at all.  
“Who was the first person you’ve killed?”

And of course her smile fades and he starts to realize that this was very likely a changing point in her life. The teenager he met who believed that walkers are only sick is long gone. She’s cutting throats now. 

His first human kill, that was different. Daryl had already known how ugly life is, how evil people are, since as long as he can remember. Taking the life of a person still mattered. Of course it did, but he had seen people close death or even dead many times before. Bar fights, overdoses - hell, his own brother had been beaten half to death by dealers numerous times. His mother burned to death. His father… he’d been the one called to the morgue to identify that sonofabitch. They are so very different, have always been, but killing is somewhat the same. 

“Gorman. He-” She pulls her knife, her shoulders shaking and she stops her pace. They don’t have the luxury to pause but he started this line of inquiry. Best he lets her finish.  
“He was a rapist and deserved every bit of it.”

She doesn’t even pretend to smile.


	6. You left me burning with the embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And their journey continues, heavy steps towards the zone, an impending reunion no one is ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is definitely SA referenced in this one, so if this makes you uncomfortable, please be safe. I have no interest currently to go into depth but recovery will be discussed at some point I imagine.  
> I have updated the tags accordingly. If there is something you would like me to add, please let me know!
> 
> A/N: I wrote this... literally months ago and never got around to post it. Now I figure, if I ever want to continue this story (and actually finish it) I must kick myself in the ass and start posting and writing again. I have started the new chapter already, which is what I said last time, but it's true! I won't make you wait as long as I did for this one. Promise.

The sun is shining too bright for this conversation. She knows- but she picked this moment to unload, why she cannot say. A conversation like this belongs in the dark, in the shadows of night, tales told in hushed voices barely above a whisper.   
  
Instead, she chose a sunny midday on the road, casual conversation, sharing her sins like a random part of her childhood.   
  
Of course, there is nothing random, not anymore. Not since she survived getting shot in the head and definitely not since he showed up and asked her to come home.   
  
He didn't use the word home for which she is thankful- her home has been burned down to the ground and for all intents and purposes she is actually homeless. And despite the fact that she had accepted her fate in the mountains, chose this place to go and to stay there, whatever winter would bring, it feels like she has run out of options a long time ago.   
  
Since the decision has been made to return to civilisation, a decision that she acquiesced to, not excitedly agreed, the weight of her experiences and actions has been almost a physical one, her medical issues aside.   
  
In the simplest terms, she knows this: She cannot return to her family as she is, with a head full of fucked up memories, because the sweet little Beth they all know died at Grady Memorial and she didn't even have the time or the capacity to figure out who this Beth really is.   
  
In order to reunite with the group she needs to shed some of the weight, and she doesn't want to. Daddy always said how important it is to put things into words, so she kept diaries as soon as she could write, but now she can't write and her head is bursting and why the fuck did she have to start with Gorman?   
  
Daryl is waiting for her to continue. She's sure that his body is just as tense as hers. So many words in the English language, and yet none simple and clear enough to assuage the storm of emotions threatening to break down over them. One can simply not throw the term rapist into the conversation and then shrug and talk about the weather. But the thirst is starting to truly bother her, more than the lack of food she's gotten used to and she hopes they'll soon find a creek and --   
  
"Beth, girl." He sounds so tentative and gentle and her hands starts to shake and the blade reflects the sunlight onto the gravel road. But none of this matters.   
  
"It's what I said. There's no... changing it. Talking about it helps no one and he's dead, so." A shoulder shrug, at last. Knife sheathed. Hair is tickling her forehead and maybe it's just her scar, she cannot tell.   
  


"Beth..."   
  
"No. No, Daryl. I can't take this, not from you. Not now." She finally faces him, searches his eyes for emphasis. "He's dead, and I'm not sorry. That's all you need to know."   
  
When she turns to leave, determined to find water at last, or a proper place to rest their feet at least, she hears the hesitancy in his steps, and cannot shake the feeling that he is disappointed somehow. A feeling that gnaws at her for the rest of the day.   
  


* * *

  
Another open fire that barely warms them enough to keep their teeth from clattering, but they've been boiling water for hours and it helps to keep them warm. They are no longer sitting together, and she isn't sure who is keeping the distance. For her, it's shame, for him, possibly disgust- either way she cannot let herself overthink it. Thinking too much leads to headaches, pain she cannot afford, not here and now and she's certainly already vulnerable enough.   
  
They both don't sleep. Stare into the fire until their legs start to tingle and it's not even close to morning when Daryl grunts, stomps out the fire and motions for her to get her things. Their track is slow but steady, but they've come across more walkers again which leaves her shaken when Daryl has to jump in and assist her with a particular heavy one.   
  
"Use your fucking eyes 'less you wanna get eaten before we reach the zone," he seethes, stepping close but not touching her.   
  
She cowers, it's involuntary but an inevitable reflex and Daryl backs off as if burned, before stalking off to piss.   
  
Suddenly she doesn't know why she's here on the road, with a man who is starting to hate her- if he cannot scrape together understanding for the reason she had to take lives, how will Maggie?   
  


* * *

  
They're holding up in a gas station. It stinks of decay, a rather decomposed walker had oozed blood and slime all over the backroom but it's shelter, and the rain outside would give them pneumonia. Beth intends to stay late into the morning, finally in a position to close her eyes and knowing the place is locked up tight and secure. She's wearing ugly orange socks and purple gloves, the merchandise here is awful but she's finally warm if not cozy. Painkillers are swimming in her system, easing the constant aches she's hardly even aware of anymore, and she's floating. The can of spaghetti-os was eaten far too quickly but her body doesn't complain.

  
She misses the meds she got from Edwards. It was a cocktail, pain meds and sedatives but just the right combo to make her uncaring, to make her relax, even when her body ached in the worst places. Once, she caught her reflection- a grotesque smile in juxtaposition to her cuts and bruises and yet she felt like she was going to be OK. They were all going to be OK, everyone, every living person, just had to.   
  
Those were sweet lies, of course. She knew it even back then, at least when the pain returned and then the memories bit by bit.   
  
"Are you never gonna talk to me again?" Maybe it's the pills or the fact that they have been playing the silent game for days, but she tilts her head and dares him to reply.   
  
He snorts and shakes his head. "It's not that, and y'know it."   
  
Now it's her turn to snort, though it sounds rather half serious even to her own ears. "And how would I know that? I shared something with you, something not pretty and you just... hate me for it now."   
  
"Is that what you think?"   
  
"It's what I know."   
  
"You're high, Greene. I ain't talking about this with you now." Daryl busies himself with his backpack- why, she wouldn't know, since he already completely unpacked and repacked the whole thing earlier, but that’s what he chooses to do. 

She turns away from him and cleans the dirt from under her nails. Maybe she was alone too long but she definitely can be alone again. The question is, when is it time to leave?

 

* * *

 

They end up staying longer than planned, eating more canned food and ramen at Daryl’s insistence and she starts to feel stronger again. This place isn’t bad but would be a terrible spot long term, right on the main road even though the status of the place gives hope that not many people come so far up, especially now with winter around the corner.

Her companion is planning, frowning over a map, marking routes he would like to take, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of taking canned goods along - the heavier, the slower the journey and riskier an escape. But he does so in solitude.

Sometimes at night, when her memories mingle with nightmares far worse than the truth, she wakes covered in sweat and with her voice lost, and he just looks at her from the other side of the room. They have made nests, extended their physical distance and day by day her will grows stronger to leave, to be on her own again. She doesn’t need him and he doesn’t need her and if returning to the group means being judged for her actions she might as well shun herself before.

There are things she wants Maggie to know. Things she would love to put in a letter but she can’t, and she can’t ask him to relay a message. Though the rift between them is deep and cold, she has an inkling that he would fight her tooth and nail to return with him to the zone.

Things have become so much more complicated.

 

* * *

 

One night she dreams of sour apple and wakes to someone holding down her arms and hissing at her face to  _ stop it! _ and it’s dark and he’s so strong and she can’t  _ breathe.  _ She’s weak, always was and he’ll take it all again like he did before and so she complies. Stops with the kicking and writhing and once she catches her breath she just whispers, “I’m a good girl now, promise, I won’t fight anymore, I’ll do whatever you want.”

And at once he lets her go and scrambles away as if he burned by her words and in the moonlight shining through the window she suddenly realizes her mistake. 

“ _ Christ _ , Beth.”

They’re both panting, him now more than her. She feels humiliated but a calm washes over her. Humiliation she can bear, it doesn’t cut into or bruise her skin. It leaves no mark to see.

“I’m good, promise.” Forces a smile. “Sorry for wakin’ you.”

And it’s grotesque, all of it, this scene and the general situation they find themselves in, this whole fucking world and he keeps staring at her as she brushes the wetness of tears off her face and unravels a messy section of her braid to redo the work with skilled fingers in smooth motions like everything is just normal.

Because it is normal now. Days and nights come with terrors that cannot be changed, that no one can be protected from and they have to brush off the rubble and keep going.

“I’ll keep watch now, you sleep.” Hands in her lap, folded neatly together for a prayer she’ll never speak.

He relaxes gradually. Finally diverts his gaze, and doesn’t argue with her about watch. Doesn’t grunt his assent, or nod. She’s not sure if he really sleeps once he tries to get comfortable again, but she can’t worry about it.

Another thing on the list of things she cannot change. But the sun will rise again and that at least is as predictable as the silence he will gift her with once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to switch POV because clearly I am not a skilled enough writer to stick with one POV... but fuck it, it's my fic, amirite? Hope the switch isn't too bothersome.  
> And as always, if you made it all the way to this note, you are AMAZING and ILY. Let me know how shit this chapter was in the comments below. ;)


	7. You make it hard to let you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another stop along the path- it's a long way to Alexandria. Beth and Daryl are reminded that they aren't the only living people out there.

 

The next days come and go. They hike, more than walk, and Beth dreads getting closer to their family’s new home with each passing hour. Daryl isn’t giving her the silent treatment anymore, but he’s short. Mumbles quick commands and instructions and she is reminded of the time after the prison. 

She thinks of her daddy a lot, his kind eyes and warmth, and how he gave the best hugs. In the prison he’d make sure to see her every night, pray with her and hold her tight, reassuring her that she was safe and loved and so brave. He’d remind her how important her work was - more often than not would she keep Judith overnight in her cell, and Hershel would sing lullabies with her to the baby girl. He would tell Beth stories, about Shawn as a kid, scrappy little boy with freckles and always out for trouble. Her brother was always helping out at the farm of course, but it started so the Greenes could keep an eye on the mischievous kid. Once Shawn started in the boy scouts he had another place to divert his energy. It wasn’t until he was 10 or 11 that a teacher sat down with the family and explained that Shawn maybe had ADHD. By 12 he was successful in the local baseball league and every weekend the Greenes would go cheer him on. 

Shawn didn’t make it far after the turn. Was bit on a run into town when people still didn’t know what  _ it _ was but this way he never had to see his family suffer. When Hershel brought him to the barn, Beth didn’t even know what any of that meant. Patricia was braiding her hair and her mom was canning in the kitchen, everything was so surreal but daddy came back inside after tending to the horses and they didn’t speak about Shawn until long after they’d left the farm. 

Beth knows that her dad wasn’t the best husband and father. But he was a gentle man to his children, and for all his faults he cared for them as much and as long as he could. 

She knows he would want her to return to Maggie, to her kin, but her sister has family, has Glenn, being blood doesn’t make family anymore. Eventually, they will all be reunited in death, and Beth doesn’t doubt that Shawn and Hershel and her mom look down and watch the Greene sisters do their best. And maybe Beth’s best is not to be in another community, locked in like sitting ducks until someone new comes to try and steal it away. Again. Going to Alexandria feels like a trap as much as anything, and she feels foolish for being led there like cattle to slaughter. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust Daryl, he’s not a stupid man, but she can’t shake the perpetual unease accompanying every step.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They come across a group of men. The loud, noisy kind, not a care in the world and too sure of themselves. It doesn’t matter who they are, most men alive and reckless are so because they are also ruthless, and Daryl and Beth lie for hours in the clammy and cold underbrush, motionless. The cold creeps into their bones while they will the men to move on, they are too many and there isn’t enough cover to escape until the sun sets and the group takes off in their van. Whoever they are, they are scavenging and exploring, and that far enough from their base camp it seems. But they have weapons and gas, and a van that isn’t shit, and they carry box by box out of a lodge right on the edge of suburbia. 

By the time the two get to exhale, Beth is violently shivering, despite sharing some body heat while lying on the forest floor. Once they determine that the men are unlikely to return, they make their way into the main building of the lodge, retrieve keys for one of the units and wordless agree on a fire before anything else. With the fire roaring, feeling returns into their numb limbs. They are still covered in dirt, but neither wants to move to heat up water. Exhausted, Beth passes out on the soft carpet in front of the fireplace.

 

* * *

 

She wakes to glowing embers, Daryl nowhere to be seen. For a moment she wonders if this is where he’s left her at last, realized his mistake and took off while she was sleeping. Now she won’t have to run away from him, at the danger of him tracking her like prey. A burst of sudden excitement overrides how foolish she should feel - for falling asleep like that, for not noticing him leave, for letting her guard down essentially right after coming across the threat of humans. 

Her head hums at the verge of a migraine, but she feels relieved- no more hiking to the zone, no more having to deal with her past. No more  _ explanations  _ and  _ justifications.  _

In a way, she can live easy now, knowing the others are alive and well. Maybe Ron and the girls will join them. Good people, thriving together. 

She meant what she told them, about needing to have faith, about good people still being out there. It wasn’t a fib, but it was not describing her anymore. Her introduction to the trio had been essentially through murder- as justified as that may feel, it was still a sin. Not that she spends a lot of time thinking about the Ten Commandments anymore. 

There is a bible in the nightstand, of course. Mainly untouched pages, a newer edition. She finds the psalm she’s looking for:

 

_ Psalm 61:1-4 _ __  
_  
_ __ 1  Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. 2  From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. 3  For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. 4  I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.

 

She tears out the page, folds it neatly. Shakes her head at herself, chuckles.     
So there is still some faith left in her after all.

 

* * *

 

“You ready?”

Daryl has returned, of course he did. No good morning, no eye contact, but squirrel meat. It doesn’t fill their bellies, but it’s protein. It’s clear outside, no signs of other people in the complex, he informs, perhaps walkers trapped in some of the rooms. They can clear them later, see what those men missed. Maybe stock up. The kitchen will be mostly empty, but places like this are treasures if you take the time to look. 

Beth takes a sip from the tiny Jim Beam bottle in the minibar, the liquor burning in her throat. 

“Yup. Any particular rooms you want to check?”

He shrugs, looking sullen. “Think it’s a good idea to drink alcohol in the morning?”

“Think anyone really cares about the time of day anymore?” She finishes and tosses the bottle over her shoulder, it bounces off the bed and rolls across the floor. “What? Gonna call me out for littering now?” 

“There’s a shack out back, a little into the woods. They might’ve missed that. Would be good to see what’s in there.” He’s chewing on his thumb again, looking out the window, carefully hiding by the curtains. 

Beth wonders if she should worry about these men returning. Maybe they figured there was more to loot another day? There won’t be time to clean up, and no time to get another nap in. It’s better to leave, to be careful. At least they’ll hear the van coming, she reasons. Who cares about being covered in dirt anyway.

Just maybe, for now, it’s safer to stick together. Just for a little while. Just until there is more space between this place and, hopefully, these men.

 

* * *

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Moonshine. Floor to ceiling, and Daryl is laughing. An honest laugh, belly deep, and Beth doesn’t think she’s ever heard him laugh so hard. Wants to shush him, but it’s infectious, and she doesn’t even know why moonshine is so funny. 

For all his sullen composure, and mindful quietness, he’s not even attempting to calm himself down as he grabs a stereotypical mason jar off the shelf. 

“Ain’t the south without a shine shack in the back. You’re in luck, Greene.”

“I am?”

“Just in case you wanna set the place on fire, we’re all set.” He takes a whiff of the liquor, scoffs. “Woo-eee, that’s some strong shine right there. They knew what they were doin’”

Beth tilts her head, puzzled, but as the smell of liquor hits her nose, memories return. The porch. Moonlight. The warmth of the drink in her belly and the fire in the air. A happy moment, after a strenuous afternoon, she recalls how emotionally painful it was. But with Daryl, there was always more than just pain. More than just fear. Even back at the farm there was the comforting feeling of safety, on the road came marvel at his resourcefulness, and at the prison she learned that he was a leader, too. Saw that people respected and looked at him for guidance and opinion, not just aid. In a way, she watched him find his place, saw his confidence build. 

He grew. So did she. But they all had some growing to do if they wanted to survive in this world.

“Are we goin’ to take some to Alexandria?”

“Maybe. Don’t want it be too heavy to carry all the way. Could take some to be able to disinfect wounds though.”

Inspecting the upper shelves, Daryl finds a crate of flasks. 

“Planning on getting hurt?”

“Better safe than sorry, Greene.”

She huffs a laugh, and grabs a flask of her own. “Right. Best to be prepared as good as we can be in this world.”

 

* * *

 

And so, plans change. They clean themselves up, scavenge the rooms for anything useful and stay a second night. They are swift and quiet, and Beth steals a few more sips of moonshine. It’s easy to tell herself that it’s to help with her migraine, which is right on the verge of uncomfortable and agonizing. The men don’t return but they both keep watch diligently throughout the night. They haven’t been foolish and won’t be starting now. 

The irony isn’t lost on her as the shine warms her belly and her cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around still! It's been crazy in the last few months and but I managed to throw this together- forgive me for the shitty chapter. See you soon! x


	8. Crossed the world with these empty hands

They smell both like Irish Spring, and as much as he knows he should feel fresh and clean, his instinct is to rub the dew moist grass all over himself. He’s standing out back next to the shine shack having a smoke. The early sun is surprisingly strong, and not for the first time does he contemplate sunglasses. Instead, he lets his hair fall into his face and diverts his gaze back to the lodge. 

Beth continues to be a mystery to him. As much as he wishes for her to open up to him, she’s growing more and more foreign. The gap between them growing- he didn’t even know there could be such distance between them. Not after everything. But she hadn’t just been missing, she was  _ dead _ so his expectations were initially non-existent. But then, climbing up that hill to the cabin, the hope building that she was there. That maybe she’d remember him. Above all, hoping that she was all right, whatever that means in this world. 

Ever since their reunion, he’s felt more emotions than in all the time since her supposed death. When she was gone, he was just… grieving. Feeling dejected. Angry. 

Now he feels overwhelmed with happiness, confusion, frustration, helplessness. Sometimes all at once.

He’s allowing himself to think back- meeting her on the farm, a child in his eyes back then. Seeing her grow in the prison, being a mother to Judith. Nurturing, and maturing into a woman before his eyes, not that he really looked. She was a peg in the machine as they tried to make the place work, going on runs, growing food, fighting the deadly flu. One night he found her outside, though she never knew he was there. She was smoking a cigarette, likely one of Zach’s, and with such confidence she looked immediately older. Her hand playing with the butt, clearly this wasn’t a new habit she’d picked up just then. He remembered thinking that he didn’t know her at all, and that held true until the funeral home, until the pig’s feet and peanut butter brunch. 

She was good, through and through, and that annoyed him, irritated him. Made him think she was naive, and weak. Now he knows know that this type of hopefulness comes with a stubborn thirst for life. Where he wanted her to be angry, to despair, to see the world for the shithole it was, she wanted to prove to him its beauty. That there was more than death and deceit.

Yes, he knew her. He knew how she did that little sigh after sneezing, how she tied her boots, how she double checked her belongings every morning and night. How she braided her hair, and fidgeted when bored.

He watched her sleep this morning, still not comprehending her mere existence. Part of him thinks he might wake up and it was all just a dream. 

“How’s your head?” 

Another shrug, and she pats her backpocket. “That shine is keeping me on the right side of that migraine.” 

And he isn’t sure what it is- he’s seen her drinking before- but he doesn’t like her eyes glassy. Doesn’t like the smell coming off her, and doesn’t like that it could make them vulnerable if she isn’t careful. But so would a migraine, he supposes. He has just seen too many people in his life use alcohol for a variety of reasons that turned out to be excuses. 

“You could use those pills we found, y’know.”

“Want to save them. For later. Plus, this stuff is mighty fine.”

“ _ Mighty fine _ ? Ain’t nothin’  _ fine _ about shine like that. Unless you think that baked beans are fine dining as well.” 

“These days they are, aren’t they?” She’s teasing, and there is an almost smile, and he relaxes a little. Less tension, even if only for a moment, even if only with the aid of shine. 

One conversation at a time, one day at a time. 

* * *

 

Their bags are packed and propped up against the door. They spent one more night, and are now getting ready for the final stretch. He supposes one day max, depending on the weather and what they encounter. They found a car with the tank half full that might take them most of the way, maybe. He’s told her about his plan to walk the last couple of miles to the zone, as it’s safer that way, and she just nodded. It’s his call, since it is his home, and she’s in no rush. Their scavenging was a success, the car is packed with items, and more shine than is reasonable. He even found clothes for Judith; they might be a little big but she’ll grow into them. There was no real reaction and no more questions from Beth as she packed them up into a pair of new backpacks. Turns out those men had taken the lazy route and only looted the common areas, which was fine with the duo.

Beth is quiet again, but sober and sharp. Biting her lip as she stretches her foot inside her new boots- too big, but with an extra pair of socks. She might get blisters but they’ll deal with it when they get there. The advantage of a place like this, just outside of a city but not quite remote, means a lot of wannabe weekend hikers buy expensive merchandise that is hardly used. Like the hatchet attached to Beth’s belt, amongst other things.

It feels weird to Daryl to exchange some of his clothes with new ones. Yes, new underpants and shirt cannot hurt, and his socks started to form holes at the heel and big toe, but still. There is something about having something that’s yours, and has been so long, keeping you grounded when everything around you is constantly changing. 

“Let’s do this,” he mumbles, hitching the backpack over this shoulder after a cautionary glance outside the window. It’s still quiet, a random walker here and there but no sign of the living, and he prefers it that way. The car will draw attention, but the travel will be faster. It will help them to not get cold and sick and he’s itching to see his family again. 

“All right,” she says. So far, she isn’t running away from him. 

* * *

 

No CDs, and of course no radio. Daryl insisted on driving, and Beth is staring out the window. The lack of distractive sound is deafening. He wonders if she feels the same awkwardness, but doesn’t ask. It’s not his thing to initiate conversation, and apparently she doesn’t want to fill that gap. 

There was time she may have sung- a human jukebox, really, Tom Petty and the top 100 in the shower. Not that he listened. But it echoed. 

Instead:

“Watch out!!”

Breaks screaming, coming to a halt  too close to comfort. A man in the road, long hair, beanie. Smiling. 

_ “The fuck is wrong with you, man?”  _

Almost a rhetorical question, but the unknown man answers anyway. “My name is Paul Rovia, but you can call me Jesus.”


End file.
